


Order from Chaos

by krankittoeleven



Series: Falls to Climb [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers (future), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV - Eivor, dropping this off in the dead of night because I haven't written fanfic in ages, how they meet, mentions of past trauma, missing scene I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29236776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krankittoeleven/pseuds/krankittoeleven
Summary: “I think I am going to be sick,” Eivor manages.  He feels hot and sweaty and tired.  His stomach rolls.  Without thinking his hand slips down Vili’s arm, grasps the other boy’s hand tight, too tight.  He just needs something to hold on to.
Relationships: Eivor & Sigurd Styrbjornson, Eivor & Vili, Eivor & Vili & Sigurd, Eivor/Vili Hemmingson
Series: Falls to Climb [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146845
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Order from Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pre-main game prelude of sorts. For now this may be vaguely spoiler-ish if you haven't finished the quests and arcs involving Eivor & Sigurd's prophecies and visions. Honestly, this next part of the note is more of a spoiler than anything in the fic, really:
> 
> I don't recall seeing anyone touch on the fact that Vili is also the name of Odin's brother in Norse mythology, so I am running with it (this can't be an accident on Ubi's part). I am not turning Vili into a reincarnated god, but I feel like it should garner some sort of connection or reaction from Odin-Eivor. 
> 
> Anyway, long notes are long, this is my head cannon for how Eivor & Vili meet. I haven't written fan fiction in ages, I hope I serve them well.

**_The Nornir weave the fates of all mankind. Each thread of destiny intertwined with the threads of many others, a complex pattern even the most wise and cunning can not decipher with any certainty. And oh so very many will try._ **

**_Ymir suckles at the teat of_ ** **_Auðumbla until her milk flows freely forth into rivers. The Nornir weave this fate, and know that it is true._**

**_Ymir, first of all jötnar, is slain by three brothers - Odin, Vili and Ve - to create the earth. From his blood they make the oceans, from his bones the mountains grow. From his brains, the clouds; from his hair, the trees. From Ymir’s eyebrows the brothers make a place for all mankind, to protect them and shelter them, and they call it Midgard. The Nornir weave this fate, and know that it is true._ **

**_But for all that he can save mankind, Odin cannot save himself for the Nornir weave the fates of all mankind, and all gods, too. And wisdom, alone, will never be enough. The Nornir weave this fate, and know that it is true._ **   
  
  
  


_Vili_

The name startles Eivor, like a deer startled by a careless hunter. He feels his entire being shudder, and he feels it most in the parts of his body that were so recently marred. He continues to stare at the ceiling, he needs a moment.

“Eivor, did you hear me?”

“Yes, Hemming Jarl. Your son, Vili.” Eivor sits up in his bed, a slow movement, and extends a hand to the boy that stands before him, at Hemming’s side. Everything feels like slow motion. He can not detach himself from the feeling that has crashed into him like a wave. 

_Vili_. 

It’s a name he has heard before. Who, from his lands, had not? 

One of Odin’s brothers, he’s heard the name before.

But no, that’s not right.

He’s **_HEARD_ ** the name before.

 _What’s the difference?_ Eivor wonders.

 _Everything,_ a voice whispers back.

There is a hand on Eivor’s forearm, pads of fingers digging in not harshly, just firmly. Vili has taken his outstretched arm in greeting.

**It feels like fire.**

**Like eternity.**

**Creation.**

**Choice.**

**It feels like life and death and beginnings and endings and swirling and dying and-**

“I think I am going to be sick,” Eivor manages. He feels hot and sweaty and tired. His stomach rolls. Without thinking his hand slips down Vili’s arm, grasps the other boy’s hand tight, too tight. He just needs something to hold on to.

Vili gasps, startled, but doesn’t pull away. He squeezes back in return.

_What’s the difference?_

_Everything._

Eivor can hear Hemming Jarl calling for assistance, through his haze he watches him return with an old urn. Probably the first one he could find.

Eivor waves it away with his bandaged hand, the other still gripping Vili. Softer now, but still firm. He will not allow his body to control him, even in this state. Vili stands there, watching, firm in stance and stature, like he was ten feet tall instead of four. He looks concerned, curious, determined, friendly, fierce, patient, kind and utterly mad. 

_How can he be so many things at once?_

_Because you can see all of him at once._

“What is going on here?”

 _Svala?_ She had been in Heillboer. Yes, she had made the trip when Styrbjorn Jarl had insisted Eivor be brought to Fornburg after the attack, and Eivor had not been in a state to complain. He remembers riding, he remembers the wolf and he remembers Sigurd...carrying him? But that is all. He woke up two days later, with pain in his head and Sigurd staring intently from across the room. 

“I thought I would be sick,” Eivor manages and Vili is pushed aside. They seem to hold on to each other for as long as they can, until Evior’s sweat slick hand slides from Vili’s. Eivor wishes he would say _something_ , but Vili is still maddeningly quiet, just watching, figuring out his place in things. He studies Eivor, and it makes him feel bare before him. “I’m fine. Just a momentary sickness.”

He’s not fine. He feels like he is on fire. Something inside him is turning and burning and _screaming_. 

“You are burning up, child,” Svala seems somewhat concerned and shouts orders towards Vili, “fetch a bowl, fill it with snow, quickly!”

Vili unflinchingly does what he is told. 

“The wolf’s bite is taking its toll, causing heat and madness,” Svala says to Hemming Jarl. Their voices seem far and meek. “How is it that you came to be here, Hemming?”

“Sigurd has responsibilities he must return to. Styrbjorn and I thought Vili might be suitable company for Eivor in Sigurd’s absence.”

“Company may stave off the madness, but that will not do much good if this heat does not break.”

The patter of Vili’s feet return as Svala makes her dire prediction.

“Good boy,” is all Svala says in thanks. “Stay aside, for now.”

“Yes, seer.”

It is two simple words, but Vili’s broken silence nearly breaks Eivor. Like he had been waiting an eternity.

He _had_ been waiting an eternity.

_It’s not the same._

_Not the same._

And then everything is maddeningly cold.

Svala is placing ice all over Eivor’s upper body. He feels so hot he thinks he can hear the water sizzle into vapor. He’s never felt anything like it before and he wants to slip away, to sleep.

“No child, you must not sleep, not yet.”

He can see a lake, frozen, solid, cold. But no, not solid. Cracking, shifting, breaking, like his mind. A horse. There is a horse on the ice.

Svala shakes Evior, his eyelids flutter slowly and finally open, and that is when he realizes they are alone. Hemming Jarl and Vili are gone. Svala is humming a tune, willing Eivor to hum with her, and he does, but his eyes never leave the doorway of his room, as if he too is willing something to happen; waiting for something to return.  
  
  
  


When Eivor wakes the sun is shining through the wicker weather barrier in his window. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but the heat in his body is gone.

No, that wasn’t quite right. It was still there, but lesser for all the trouble it caused. Eivor moves in his bed, testing his body. His head hurts, it always hurts, no matter what salve or balm is used. The muscles in his shoulders and back ache. His left hand and arm tingle with freshly applied cream. 

Eivor sits up, slowly, tentatively, like he might regret it any moment. 

“You are awake.”

“Are you certain?” Eivor asks, the question startled straight out of his mouth. Only five words in total now, but Eivor knows it’s Vili.

“I...the seer was afraid you would not wake.”

Eivor finally finishes his slow attempt to sit up. He looks to Vili, who is sitting at a small table in the room. Sigurd had sat there not long before. 

“Why are you here, Vili Hemmingson?” He had not meant for it to sound so accusatory.

“My father wanted someone to be here when you woke. I told him I would sit with you.”

Vili sounds just the slightest bit hurt for being questioned. Eivor regrets it immediately.

“Thank you,” he mumbles ashamed. He dips his head, feels the bandage slip from his neck, pulling at the wrapping around his head. It pulls at scabs and dried blood. Evior hisses with pain.

“Careful!” Vili yelps. He is across the room so fast, like lightning. “Where does it hurt?”

Eivor gestures vaguely with his hand towards his neck.

“The cloth is sticking, and pulling it open again,” he says. In the corner of his vision he can see Vili staring at his neck, hands hovering in the air nearby, like he’s planning his move, rehearsing what he will do. He is so young, but his hands are so steady, so sure. Slowly, his hands inch forward and he is gently pulling the cloth strips away from Eivor’s neck. It still hurts, still pulls away scabs and dried blood, but it is manageable now, does less damage than if he had just ripped it free. Eventually there is relief when the gnarled parts of his neck are exposed to the cool air of the room, like the last of that damned heat leaving his body.

Evior feels the gentle pressure of Vili’s hands on his throat and neck, just beyond the radius of his wound. He is being examined.

“That wolf really had it in for you. Gave you a toothy kiss right on the neck. How did you ever manage to survive?”

Eivor chooses not to take the question of his survival as an insult.

“I called the ravens.”

Vili’s fingers linger a moment longer, before the touch disappears. 

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know how else to say it. I called the ravens to me and they came. They distracted the wolf and I think there was an axe. I am not certain. I remember Sigurd found me and then the next thing I was here.”

There is a moment of passing silence. It’s not uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. And then there is a rustling, flapping noise coming through the wicker on the window.

Vili, always so curious, goes to investigate. Eivor does not follow with his gaze, he knows what Vili will find. 

“Odin’s Beard!” Vili exclaims as he pulls the wicker piece from the window frame to allow a fluttering raven to glide into the room. It flutters about, unsurprisingly uncertain of where to land.

Evior coos something to the bird just along the edge of hearing until it settles, somewhat begrudgingly, at the foot of Eivor’s bed. 

“See?” Eivor asks, as if he had to prove what he had said was the truth. The raven squawked, almost amiably.

“That’s incredible. Does it have a name? Like Huginn and Muni--”

The raven cuts Vili off with another sharp squawk.

“Her name is Synin,” Evior says. He is learning very quickly that a single squawk can convey many things. She is not the one who attacked the wolf, she is smaller, younger, Eivor thinks.

“How did it - _she_ \- know what I said?”

“My father says they are very…” 

That was the entirely wrong thing to say. 

The horse is falling through the ice.

An axe is swinging through the air.

He had made it so far without remembering.

He thought he could go a lifetime if he tried hard enough.

“My mother and fath--,” He can’t finish the words, forces himself not to finish the thought. His hand is starting to tremble uncontrollably. Synin is hoping nervously at the foot of the bed. Evior bites his lip, he can feel his heart pounding in his throat, pulsing through the broken flesh of his neck, beating against the claw marks in his skin. He wonders if they are etched into his skull.

Why did he call the ravens? Why didn’t he just let the wolf kill him? It would have been better if it had just swallowed him whole.

Eivor closes his eyelids against the tears that well in his eyes, but it is too late. He can feel them creep their way down his face, flowing like a river past his cheeks and chin and down his neck. He wants to scream and shout and curse--

He looks at Vili, startled to see how stiff and uncertain he looks, like he too might cry if he’s pushed any farther outside his comfort zone. He doesn’t like the thought of that at all.

“I’m sorry,” Eivor manages, before his tears turn to sobs. He can’t seem to stop it from happening.

“Don’t apologize,” Vili replies. He sits on the edge of the bed, near Eivor but with the slightest space between them, and wraps his arm around Eivor’s lower back, avoiding Eivor’s shoulders and ruined neck.

At first Eivor thinks this will be enough, but it’s not and with little control over himself he turns, buries his face in Vili’s shoulder and cries like the injured and orphaned child that he is. 

  
  
  
  
  


Sigurd is caught off guard when he returns to Eivor’s room in the early evening, food and drink in hand, with the hopes that he can get the younger boy to eat. He had heard his father talk of Vili being good company to Eivor, but didn’t know the plan had been hatched.

But here he was, Eivor slumped against him, mouth drooping slightly. Vili’s cheek is resting against the crown of Eivor’s head. Somehow most of Eivor’s injuries are untouched by Vili’s clearly slumped and sleeping body. Sigurd finds that sort of awareness a little unsettling.

Quietly he places the mug and plate on the table, but it isn’t quiet enough. There is a sudden flapping of wings as a raven makes a quick, squawking flight around the room and darts out the window. 

“Mimir’s bloody neck stump!” Sigurd is too startled not to shout. A raven appearing seemingly out of nowhere was absolutely not on his list of things he would find in Evior’s room. Vili, sure. Raven, no.

“Sigurd?”

It’s Vili that is awake, but Sigurd is surprised the whole world isn’t awake, now. For a brief second he feels a knot form in his stomach because Evior hasn’t moved in the commotion. But he can see the slightest movement of Vili’s tunic where Eivor’s breath would be falling.

“Sorry,” Sigurd whispers, “but why was there a raven in here?”

“Raven?” Vili’s eyes are fluttering, barely open. “Oh, Synin.”

“It has a name?”

“She has a name. Do you have water?”

Sigurd gets the mug from the table and hands it to Vili. When the boy is holding it firmly in two hands Sigurd slides his hand between Vili and Eivor and holds Eivor’s weight.

“Slide off the bed for a moment, let me settle him.” 

Vili does as he is told, sluggishly, still sipping from the mug as Sigurd lifts Eivor and places him on his back in the bed. He recalls that Evior doesn’t like sleeping on his back, but it is really the only way to avoid agitating any of his wounds. He sees the bandage has been removed from Eivor’s neck and makes a note to tell Svala it needs to be rebandaged. He tries not to stare, but it is impossible not to look at the mess on his friend's neck.

“I should go,” Vili breaks Sigurd’s contemplation.

“Oh no you don’t little troll,” Sigurd says, a smile turning the corners of his mouth. He takes the mug from Vili’s hands, “You don’t look like you’ll make it five feet without falling on your sleepy arse. Lie down, I will make sure Hemming Jarl knows you will be staying here longer.”

Vili nods his head, rolls back onto the bed and Sigurd thinks he is asleep before his head hits the pillow. The two boys are sleeping on top of the furs on the bed despite the wicker window cover sitting on the floor. He really wants to know what the raven had to do with all of this.

He makes his way over to the window to replace the wicker when he spots the raven sitting on a nearby rock just outside the room. 

“Who are you little one?” Sigurd asks quietly. “Are you sent from the All-Father?”

The raven _Synin?_ squawks once and flies away and that’s when Sigurd notices that it was not the only one. At least a dozen other ravens, most of them much bigger than Synin, take to the air as well. 

Sigurd stares, unsure of what to make of all of this. He’s not entirely certain that someone hasn’t tainted his food with the wrong sort of mushrooms. He places the wicker cover back on the window and turns to look at the two sleeping boys. They are peaceful and sleeping and that calms Sigurd, but there is something going on here, of that he is certain.

**_And the Nornir weave this fate and know that it is true._ **

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant as a prelude to a longer body of work I'm wanting to write that will consist of interconnected stores, mostly in the pre, end and post game time periods. More to come, with actual Eivor/Vili and probably other pairings.


End file.
